Come Back to me
by Hatsepsut
Summary: Another present fic. Fenris leaves he City of Chains after the night he spends with Hawke; heavy words had been exchanged and everything between them looked hopeless. Eleven months later, he is back, determined to win the affection of the woman he can't forget again. But she seems to have a secret... Fenris/F!Hawke, angst, fluff and smut. NSFW.


**This is present for Rose Moon 24 who was my 500th reviwer for Don't Bet on it. Thank you very much dear, I am over the moon you liked it!**

**As always, Rose Moon 24 was given the option to keep this private- it is a present, after all - but decided to share it with the rest of you. **

**Daddy Fenris. I can't get enough of him. *winks***

**My thanks to MidnightMoonCat for an amazing beta job *hugs* and my heart-felt wishes to Defiant Anjeru for things to straighten up soon. Honey, I love you, you know that.**

* * *

As he walked through the gates leading into Kirkwall, Fenris took the time to look around and scan for any change that had happened during his absence. Merchants still peddled their wares and crowds still milled around the busy market, nobles were still as haughty as always and templars watched with unflinching, vigilant eyes through their helmets.

Hawke should be at home at this early time of the day, or getting ready to go on another mission; or even just now waking up to a hangover after spending the night gambling and drinking at The Hanged Man.

Come to think of it, even if she wasn't there, there could never be a better place to go and learn news of her.

For almost a full year he had been away from the city. After their night together, things had been tense between them, but the Qunari trouble which had culminated in their attempt to take over the city had not let them hash things out between them. There had always been important things to do, crises to be averted, people to kill.

Only after the Qunari had been defeated and Hawke had been named Champion had they finally had the chance to speak. As he was making his way down the dark stairs to Lowtown and to The Hanged Man, he replayed that whole conversation over and over in his mind, the angry words they had exchanged, the hurt and the frustration. His eyes fell to the red band he was still wearing around his wrist, faded and nearly threadbare now, and he sighed.

_I need an answer, Fenris,_ she had said. _Why do you keep wearing that thing around your wrist? What do I mean to you?_

The answer now, nearly a year later, was easy: _everything. You mean everything._ But back then, he had remained stubbornly quiet and had watched her eyes grow sad and then angry.

_I was just a cheap thrill, wasn't I? A little roll in the hay. You just wanted to see if you could..._her voice had broken and then she had laughed, a mirthless, sad little snicker. _I am so stupid,_ she had added in a feeble little whisper_. I thought...never mind what I thought...I had hoped...Never mind that too. _

She had then turned and left, tossing him one last look over her shoulder.

_Such a shame, Fenris. We could have been good together_.

_It never would have worked,_ he had answered, regret thick in his voice_. I cannot do this. It is too soon, too much. I am sorry._

_Yeah, I'm sorry too,_ she had tossed him, not even bothering to look back. _You're free of me, Fenris. I won't bother you again._

And she hadn't.

She hadn't spoken to him, she hadn't stopped by to take him on missions, she hadn't even acknowledged him when he had showed up uninvited to the Hanged Man one night. Her hands had just tightened around the mug of ale she had been holding and she had kept her head down, not even speaking, until he'd been forced to leave.

Two days later, he'd left Kirkwall.

He had ended up in Ferelden, and from there on to Denerim, where he had impressed the leader of a mercenary group enough during a scuffle with some bandits in a back alley to be offered a position in the group.

Eleven months had passed, and now here he was, back in Kirkwall. He had been asking himself why he had decided to come back millions of times, and the answer was easy.

Living without her hurt too much.

He had to get her back. He had to find a way. Maker, he couldn't sleep without her, he couldn't eat, he could hardly breathe.

He whispered her name as he crossed the threshold of the tavern, hoping she would be here, praying she hadn't found someone else to replace him. Fear gripped his insides that he would find her in another man's arms; Anders' or Sebastian's. Why would a woman like Hawke have waited for someone like him, who had abandoned her in the middle of the night, and not even bothered to tell her goodbye before leaving?

Chances were she had moved on. Chances were, he would find her with someone else, happy as she deserved to be, not a single thought spared for him, unless it was of disgust.

But he could hope, couldn't he?

* * *

Varric spotted him nearly as soon as he stepped into the tavern. His eyes grew a little large, but that was the only sign he gave of being surprised.

"So, the broodical son returns," he drawled sarcastically as Fenris neared his table responded with a magnanimous gesture towards the chair to Fenris' raised eyebrow.

"Greetings to you as well, Varric," Fenris chose to ignore the jab. No doubt all his former companions were bound to be put off by the way he had disappeared. "I trust you and Bianca are well?"

Varric leaned back n his chair. "Let's dispense with the bullshit, elf," he coldly replied. "Where have you been?"

Fenris caught the waitress' eye and ordered a glass of wine. He then turned to the dwarf that was eyeing him with barely veiled annoyance. "What does it matter?" he asked, shrugging. "I am back."

Something flashed in Varric eyes. He leaned back onto the table and his voice lowered to an angry whisper. "You shit for brains little twit. Do you have any idea how worried we all were? How worried Hawke was?"

Something warmed in his chest at the thought that Hawke and all his friends –yes, they were his friends; he saw that now- were worried for him. Then a pang went through his heart at the thought that Hawke had been concerned for him, had even looked for him, worrying that perhaps slavers had captured him. Damn his stupidity, he could have left a letter.

He bowed his head. "Truth be told, I thought she would have been relieved to see me go."

Varric huffed. "Relieved? You little nug-humbing sodding shit. She was frantic."

A corner of Fenris' mouth curled up despite his will.

"Wipe that smirk off your face, or so help me..."

"Fenris?" a voice interrupted Varric and he looked behind him, then swore under his breath and looked away.

Fenris slowly turned, to see Hawke standing behind him, dressed in an impressive suit of armour, her eyes wide with shock.

"Hawke!" he gasped out. Maker she looked so beautiful, more beautiful than he remembered.

"You're alive...You came back." Her eyes widened even more with shock and something else, something he couldn't really identify. It looked like fear, like trepidation. He couldn't put his finger on it.

He noticed Anders was right behind her and narrowed his eyes as the healer placed a hand on her shoulder, then leaned in to whisper something in her ear. She nodded absentmindedly and then her shoulders stiffened and she looked away for a few minutes, swallowing heavily. When she next turned to him, her face was composed to a calm, polite mask.

"I'm glad you're alive, Fenris," she smiled and again, Fenris was gripped with a surprising sense of anxiety, as if there was something hidden in her eyes that involved him, and it wasn't good.

"What is the matter, Hawke?"

"Nothing," she smiled, but it was forced, to say the least. "Are you well? Where have you been?"

"A mercenary job, in Denerim. I joined a group. The Crimson Oars"

"Good for you," she said absentmindedly. Then she raised her head and offered him a bright, completely fake smile. "Are you going back soon, then?"

Fenris hesitated. She seemed almost anxious for him to get out of town. What was going on here? He knew she wouldn't actually be expecting him with open arms, not after the way they had parted, with bitter words and accusations, but this was...this was strange. Yes, he had been gone without a trace for almost a year –eleven months, one week, two days and about three hours, not that he was _counting_ or anything- but he expected her to at least be relieved he was well once she saw him again.

"No, I have come back to stay," he offered, hesitantly, and his hackles rose in alarm at the way she paled and her eyes widened. "If you would have me again," he mumbled, and then hasted to add, with a nervous little cough, "In your group, I mean."

"We already have a new swordsman," Anders spat. "We don't need you."

Fenris completely ignored the abomination and focused all his attention on Hawke, waiting for her answer with bated breath.

She swallowed again, then looked down at her hands, then again at his face.

"I don't think so, Fenris," she said, and the regret and pain in her voice nearly slew him.

"Give me a chance, Hawke," his voice dropped to an intimate, cajoling octave. He saw a tremor rack her body and had to bite the inside of his cheek not to smile. He could still affect her like no other man, just by the sound of his voice.

Hawke tightened her lips and shook her head before walking out.

But Fenris had gotten all the information he needed from this little encounter. She was still single, she was still affected by him, she still had feelings for him.

Hope blossomed in his heart. He would find a way to win her back.

* * *

A week later, he was frustrated enough to want to punch his fist through a brick wall. She avoided him like the plague. He hadn't seen her for more than a few minutes; she had locked herself into her home and every time he tried to get in to see her, there was somebody there to block the door; Bodhan, or Anders or Sebastian. Aveline had forcibly thrown him out the one time he had snuck into her mansion, determined to talk to her. Varric didn't even talk to him.

All his former companions seemed incensed with him; up to a point he could understand why. But after he had apologised to every single one of them –even the abomination- for the worry he had caused them, he had hoped they would relent. He had hoped at least one of them, Isabela perhaps, or Varric, would have been his allies in his effort to win Hawke back.

In his desperation he turned to the only person that had a sad, compassionate look on her face whenever Hawke shut him out and refused to even look at him.

Merrill. The blood mage.

That was why he was here, in that sad part of town that reeked of desperation and destitution: the Alienage.

He banged on her door, calling himself ten kinds of a fool. He didn't trust Merrill, he never had, but the elven girl was his best chance right now.

When Merrill opened the door, she stood there just watching him with those huge green eyes of hers, silently contemplating something, worrying her lip between her teeth.

He didn't say anything, just stared back, but some of his desperation must have shown on his face because she sighed, mumbled something in elven under her breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse, and then stepped back.

"I know I will regret this," she said.

He walked into that hovel she called a home and she started fluttering around the room, talking a mile a minute in what was an awkward blubbering, sure to cause him a headache.

"She will probably never forgive me, but I don't think it's right... The Dread Wolf take me, I know she'll never speak to me again, she was adamant that nobody should tell you, but I don't think it's right, Creators help me, I think she should give you a second chance, you can't be that stupid as to throw it all away, I..."

"Merrill." He growled, and watched in hidden amusement how her eyes widened. Had he even used her name before? Probably not.

"Okay, here goes," she drew a deep breath. "Promise not to kill me?"

Fenris' whole body went rigid with trepidation and anticipation. He held his breath.

"She's had a child."

If Merrill had just sprouted a second head, he would have been less shocked.

'A...a ...a child, you said?"

Merrill nodded.

"Your son."

* * *

On the way to her mansion, he was so furious he had to forcibly restrain himself from having his markings flash and scared the nobles milling in the street senseless. Even so, the dark look on his face and the menace he excluded as he walked, his head bowed down, his fists tightened to the point of injuring himself, made people clear the way in front of him.

She'd had his son. She had been pregnant with his baby, and she hadn't told him. Did she know that the last time they had spoken? And even if she didn't, why hadn't she told him the minute he was back?

She wanted to keep his child from him. She wasn't going to tell him. He might have left the city again, and he would never have learned that he was a father.

The word drove a knife through his gut. A father. He was a father. And she hadn't told him.

His rage increased with every step he took towards her estate. He had a right to know. Damn her, he was a father, he had sired a child, and she hadn't told him. Was she so disgusted by him, did she care so little about his feelings that she didn't even give him the courtesy of informing him that their glorious night together had resulted in a child? His child?

Maker, did she hate him that much to keep his child from him?

Cold, furious anger infused every inch of his body. Hadn't she known how much it had hurt him not to have any knowledge of who he was, of his family? Hadn't she known how much he dreamed of having a family of his own?

His step faltered at the though.

A family. A family of his own. His child. His son. And she had kept him from him. It sounded like the worst kind of insult, the worst of dismissals, like he wasn't worth knowing, he wasn't worth being a part of the child whose life he was responsible for.

Did she really think so little of him?

He banged on her door, and Bodahn answered, the usual politely dismissive words ready on his lips.

He pushed past the dwarf, shooting him a look that made his cower in fear. With furious, long strides, he crossed the antechamber and came face to face with Hawke, wide eyes with alarm at Bodahn's shouts of "Messere Fenris is here!".

They stood staring at each other for a few seconds, him almost vibrating with angerand her breathless with fear.

She drew in a deep breath and her hand flew to her throat in panic at the irate look he gave her. "You know."

His lip curled in disgust.

"Where is he?" he spat. "Where is he, Hawke?"

Her eyes darted to her bedroom, and he pushed past her, taking the steps two at the time.

He burst into the room, and the first thing he saw was a small wooden crib, sitting near the bed, bathed in sunlight. A small wooden mobile was gently spinning above it, birds and butterflies in bright, joyful colours.

The sight made him instantly furious, insanely mad.

"When were you planning to inform me that I had sired a child?" he spat at Hawke who had rushed in the room behind him, out of breath and trembling from head to toe.

She drew couple of deep breaths and then stepped in front of him, blocking his path to the crib.

Her chin rose up.

"How was I supposed to find you and tell you, Fenris?"

Fenris' lip curled in an expression of distaste.

"I have been back for more than a week. You should have told me the minute you first saw me."

She huffed. "Really? What was I supposed to say? That the night you regretted spending with me ended up in a child?"

He drew back. "I never said I regretted it."

"You weren't exactly happy about it, though, were you?"

Fenris raised a hand sharply. "Stop this. This has nothing to do with the fact that I have a son, and you wanted to keep him from me. That is unacceptable, Hawke."

"Keep him from you?" her eyes widened in disbelief. "KEEP HIM FROM YOU? You arrogant ass, why do you that this had anything to do with you? It's my son I was protecting, you jackass!"

"Protecting him from me?" his ire was enough to make his markings flash. "I do not make it a habit to run my fist through little babies' chests."

"Yes..." she breathed, totally defeated. "Just their hearts."

He snarled, and his hand rose on its own before he realised, by the way she cringed and stiffened, preparing for a blow, that in his anger he had been seconds from hitting her.

The bright blue glow that had infused his body died out, and for a second a terribly vulnerable look crossed his eyes before he closed his eyes and counted to ten, trying to make sense of what she had said.

"You can never love him like he deserves, Fenris," her voice was soft, and sad. She was looking at him with those bright amber eyes of hers, tears slipping down her face. "Letting you in his life would be just...cruel. He deserves a father that will dote on him, that will always be there for him. Can you honestly say you will be that father?"

His eyes flew open and an expression of pure loathing crossed his face.

"So you get to decide this for him? You get to make that choice, just like that? What gives you that right?"

She drew her shoulders up, the iron in her spine stiffening with determination although her heart was breaking inside.

"I get to make this decision for both of us. You say that night had nothing to do with this; I say it had _everything_ to do with it. You walked out on me, on us, that night. You chose not to be here. You turned around and left like a coward in the night, no explanation, no excuse. I was left all alone, went through the months of waiting for him all alone, not even knowing if my baby's father was dead or alive."

Another tear slipped down her face.

"I _had_ him alone, Fenris. I will raise him alone."

Fenris' gut twisted at the images her words brought to his mind and his anger died, completely overshadowed by the anguish her words caused. In his anger at having found out, he hadn't stopped to consider how having a child alone had been for her, what she had gone through. He struggled to remain angry, to regain the righteous indignation he had felt storming the streets towards her house, but the pain lashing his heart at the sight of her tears didn't let him.

Guilt mixed in with the pain, chasing the last of his anger away. _I had him alone_. The words were like rusty daggers, like broken glass in his lungs.

Images assaulted his brain, making him feel ten inches tall. Hawke, discovering she was pregnant all alone, no one to share her news. Growing large with his baby without anyone to hold her hand, without anyone to do the silly little things husbands did for their expectant wives; hold her hair back during the months of morning sickness, rub her feet, help her out of chairs, run for treats she craved in the middle of the night. No one to share the fear and the anxiety and the joy. No one to put their hands on her belly and feel the baby kick. No one to hold her hand while she gave birth.

"Was the labour hard?" he asked, his voice lost.

"I nearly died. I was bleeding and...anyway. Anders saved me. He delivered him."

Fenris' mind reeled. _She had nearly died_.

"I called for you when the pain came, Fenris," she was sobbing now. "I called your name until my voice was hoarse. You weren't here."

"I want to be here now!" he cried out, frustration mounting in him. "Isn't that enough?"

She tightened her lips to stop the tears and her trembling hand came up to cradle his face. Eyes huge with tears, her heart bleeding, she laid the most tender of kisses on his lips, making his heart clench and his breath hitch.

"It would be, if you were here because of love. Not because of obligation. I won't be your shackles, Fenris, nor will my son be the chain around your ankle. I refuse to do that. "

She turned away from him then, the motion the worst of dismissals he could ever dream of receiving, making both anger and frustration mount in him, and pain shred his insides. He reached out and grasped her hand, forcing her to turn around and face him.

"What if I was?" he asked. "What if I was here out of love, not out of obligation? What if you were dismissing me like that and I had come here intending to lay my everything before your feet? How will you live with yourself and your choice Hawke?" his voice gentled at the new tears that slipped down her face and the look of anguish that painted itself on her face. He released her hand, unwilling to cause her any more pain, but unable to dismiss the voice crying out inside him to fight, to make her understand, to do something, damn it, to get her back. "You are not offering me the slightest chance to redeem myself. What will you tell our son when he is old enough to ask why you excluded his father from his life?"

"I will tell him his father never loved me, and that I loved him enough to set him free."

This was his chance. That little voice whimpering inside was now roaring that this was his chance to tell her; if he just uttered those three little words, she would take him back. She would give him a chance. She would love him again.

For as long as lived Fenris would never stop cursing that knot in his throat, that wave of fear that rose up to choke him; he would never stop hating himself for keeping silent.

She looked into his eyes, expectant, hopeful, for a few long minutes, before her eyes closed and she shook her head on mirthless, defeated little laugh.

"And...once again, I'm so stupid...Never mind, it's better this way," she tried to convince herself. "With my luck, he'll end being a mage, and you'll hate us both for that."

Fenris eyes widened and he felt his whole life view crumble inside him. What would he do if his son turned out to be a mage? He had a vision of templars coming for a little boy hiding behind Hawke's skirts and his heart bled. Maker. The way he viewed the world shifted and tipped on its axis at the scared look on that little boy's face in his mind's eye.

No way in the entire Void he would ever allow that. He would die protecting them.

He took a step back.

"If that day ever comes, Hawke, I will be here to fight and die for you both," he said in his most solemn voice and then tipped his head. "Even if...even if I can't be his father, I promise you that."

Hawke gasped and he was just about to turn back and leave, when he just snapped. He couldn't...Maker. He couldn't. He had to...one last time. Her sweet mouth, her kiss. One last time.

He drew her in his arms and grasped the back of her head as his mouth descended on hers in a kiss that was hot as it was desperate. She readily surrendered and he plundered her mouth, kissing her with all the love, all the desire, all the longing in his lonely heart, all the anger and the frustration at having lost his last chance with her.

When the kiss ended, he turned around and left, not sparing a look behind her to see her bring a hand to her mouth in order to stifle her cry to him.

_Don't go!_

* * *

He heard a baby's cry as he was going down the stairs, so lost in thought and regret he could barely see straight. He started and his ears perked up; a gasp escaped him and he was left there, one foot suspended in mid step, as that soft mewling started picking up in volume, turning into desperate, frantic wails.

That had to be...his son.

The thought nearly brought him to his knees. Pain exploded sharply inside his heart, as if someone had thrust a rusty dagger and twisted it around. He cringed. Maker. There was a baby back there, a tiny child he and Hawke had made together. A part of him and a part of her, united forever.

In his anger, he hadn't even remembered to take a look, to see if the child looked anything like him. Did he have his eyes? His nose? Were his ears completely human or slightly pointed like most half-elves?

Maker, he hadn't even asked his son's name.

He took a step back, fully intending to go back, Maker, his son was crying, and the sound was making something unidentifiable in his soul scream for him to go back and do something to stop that heart-rendering sound. Just then, he heard Hawke's voice rise above the cries, singing a lullaby in her rich vibrato voice.

_Hush, little baby, don't say a word_, she sung, sadness so thick behind the words that Fenris' heart just bled. _Mama's going to buy you a mocking bird_, the song went on and his son's voice quieted down.

_If that mocking bird won't sing, mama's going to buy you a diamond ring._

Fenris was just at the door, walking softly as not to interrupt. He saw Hawke through the half-opened door, sitting down on the floor, a bundle squirming in her arms. Her head was bent over the child as she was singing, and the air of dejection coming off her in waves was again like a blow to the solar plexus for Fenris.

_And if that diamond ring turns to brass, _she went on,_ her voice shaking, papa' going to..._

She paused. Her voice broke on sob.

"I'm sorry, little Fenny," Fenris heard her whisper. "Looks like you won't have a papa after all."

The name...she had given his son his own name.

Little Fenris. Fenny.

He pulled back from the door and laid his head against the wall, shutting his eyes tightly and heard her broken sobs as she cried over their baby.

He had never been more ashamed of himself in his whole life. He had allowed his regrets and his fear to make him walk out on her again; her and his son.

New determination rose inside him, making his markings suddenly give a bright, furious flash.

No. He wasn't going. He wouldn't give up. She was scared, she was pushing him away because she feared having her heart broken by him again; he would not allow it.

Fear and regret had ruled this relationship for far too long. The next step was his, and Maker help him he would take it. He would make her see. He had to, his very survival depended on it.

He walked back into that room, and neared her on silent, cat like steps. She didn't realise he was there, not until she felt him kneel on the floor behind her, and her back stiffened up. Her hands tightened around the little bundle in her arms and she turned blotchy eyes to him, shocked at his sudden reappearance.

He laid a hand on her shoulder and then leaned in to take a look at that little squirming bundle. A dark haired head and scrounged up tiny features. Pouty lips suddenly twitched into a frown and the baby started wailing again, startling Fenris; how could something so small make such a ruckus?

Hawke watched his face as he examined his son, and her heart warmed against her will. Oh, she was hopeless. He was a hard man, a cold man most of the times, but she loved him. She knew him, his stubbornness, his damnable pride, his prickly character. She knew all his quirks and hang-ups and she loved him regardless, and there was nothing she could do about it. She hadn't stopped loving him a single minute, no matter how angry she had been, no matter how hard she had tried to convince herself she was better off without him, no matter how hard she had tried to erase him from her mind and heart.

Damn him, why couldn't he love her back, just a bit, just a little tiny bit?

She watched in awe as he pulled his gauntlets off, not even taking his eyes of the infant in her arms for a second and he reached out with a trembling hand to trail a finger down a tiny, slightly pointed ear.

Fenny's eyes opened and his hazy green eyes looked around, tried to focus and then went comically cross-eyed. He started wailing again, tightly coiled little fists waving furiously.

"He has my eyes!" Fenris gasped, shocked to see something of his on another living creature.

"And your lovely temperament," she wryly said and then, emotionally exhausted, she leaned her head back onto his chest.

He huffed. "Very funny," he dryly commented. The wailing went on. "Why is he crying?"

"Colic," she just said, and then nuzzled into his neck.

Fenris heart swelled. "How do we make him stop?"

"The whole of Hightown has been wondering _exactly_ that."

"Make my son stop crying, Hawke," he said, wincing. "The sound hurts my ears." _And my heart_, he silently added.

She drew her head back and shot him a withering look.

"You do it," she just said, and next thing he knew she had laid the baby is his arms and gotten up. "I'll go make some of that special tea Anders brought for him."

She spared one look at them as she was leaving and she nearly laughed out at the image of Fenris holding his son like he would a lit bundle of explosives. But just before she was ready to go back to them, his mouth quirked up into a smile and he cradled the baby closer to his chest and started rocking him back and forth.

Hawke nearly started crying again.

Well, maybe they had a chance. A small, desperate, precarious chance. Maybe Fenris wanted his son enough to actually stay long enough to feel something for her. Perhaps he had come back to stay; even if she herself wasn't enough to make him stay, his son just might. She hated the idea of tying him down, she had never wanted him to stay with her out of responsibility, but if he was determined to do it, she would take what she could.

She sent a small prayer to the Maker to forgive her. She was selfish enough to use her child to tie the man she loved to her, despite her assurances to the opposite. Shame flooded her, mixing with the joy of watching him with their son. _Forgive me_, she silently entreated, as she watched him smiling over his child. _That's why I didn't tell you. I didn't know if I would be strong enough to let you _go. _I wasn't sure I would be strong enough to do the right thing._

She fled out of the room, tears springing into her eyes again. Maker, he was already half in love with his child, the child he had sired on a woman he felt nothing about. And if she knew anything about Fenris, it was that his sense of duty would never let him go.

She had just cost the man she loved his freedom. He was a slave again, to duty this time, when all she had wanted was his love.

Just as she was going down the stairs, she heard his amazing voice break into a soft song in Arcanum, and nearly stumbled over her feet at the beauty and the tenderness of the softly sang tune.

She would once have given an arm and a leg to hear him sing. But now it just made her hide her head in her hands and cry; distressed, forlorn sobs racking her body.

"Marian," she heard his voice behind her, and she turned a tear drenched face to him.

He was standing in the doorway, his son cradled against his chest. She absentmindedly noticed he had pulled his chest piece and leather cuirass off, and then his eyes caught hers and her heart fluttered at the soft, tender look in them.

"I love you," he said. "Both of you."

She gasped.

He just smiled at the shocked look on her face, and then chuckled softly as her knees nearly gave out and she stumbled.

"I came back to tell you that," he went on, his voice a soft caress against her frayed nerve endings. "This..." he looked at the baby cradled against his chest, and then at her, "is a precious gift I am grateful for. But you were all I wanted. All I dreamed of. All I lived for these past months. I can only hope you can love me back."

Joy burst in her heart like a star. Her world tilted on its axis and then righted itself, making her head reel and new tears, tears of happiness this time, slip down her face. All the pain in her soul bled and died, all the sorrow and the guilt and the amazing, soul-rending loneliness. Hope surged through her, love, bliss, joy, elation; until she felt dizzy with it.

"I already do," she stuttered.

He nodded, a bright smile transforming his already handsome face to that of a God.

"Good," he said. "Now, go get my boy his tea."

She nearly flew into the kitchen and to a distressed Bodahn, walking on clouds, with a smile on her face that rivalled the sun in its brilliance.

"Messere?" he asked anxiously, twisting his fingers together.

"Enchantment!" Sandal cried.

She laughed. "Enchantment indeed, Sandal!" she laughed, her first truly joyous laugh in months.

* * *

"Why is he crying now?" Fenris frantically asked for the hundredth time, making Hawke roll her eyes.

This past hour had been awkward and filled with amazing, heart-warming discoveries.

Their son had put them both through their paces; he had stopped wailing for about ten minutes when the warm tea had soothed his aching little belly for a while, allowing Fenris to examine him more thoroughly and ask her a million little questions: was she breastfeeding him or had she hired a wet-nurse? How many times did he wake every night? What day was it when he had been born? How was the labour, why had she been in trouble, where had that damned abomination been, why had he allowed the mother of his child to nearly die? Was she tired? Was he a difficult child? Had she been eating well? She looked thinner. She should eat well; she needed the extra calories to produce milk for his son.

By the end of it, she was both charmed and frustrated by his interest. She felt like a cow, like all she was good for was to produce milk for _his_ son. She also felt like she was loved and cared for, as his eyes had examined every inch of her, looking for signs of her being tired, or not properly fed, or without enough sleep.

She had been saved from his relentless prodding by her son's indignant wails and the awful stench informing them that he needed a nappy change.

Fenris had looked over her shoulder as she had been changing the baby, turning a little green at the smell and sight, but holding on well, considering it had been his first encounter with a stinky nappy. When she had cleaned Fenny and he had happily been awaiting his new nappy, kicking up his legs feebly, Fenris had taken the chance to examine all of his son, had counted minute fingers and toes, run his calloused hands all over that amazingly soft skin.

Hawke had nearly choked on the lump in her throat.

The questions had started again once the baby was dressed and swaddled.

Are you okay? Have you had a hard time carrying him? Maker, woman, what do you mean you went on missions while pregnant? Are you crazy?

Her son's wailing saved her once again.

"Why is he crying?" Fenris cradled the baby against his chest, already holding him like a pro. His eyes widened. "He hasn't done...that, again, has he? How many times a day do babies do _that_?"

She laughed and shook her head.

"He's hungry. It's time for his meal."

Fenris' eyes zoomed in on her chest, and then heated up. Her breasts had nearly doubled, straining against the fabric of her house robe.

"I want to watch," he whispered, his deep voice hoarse with what sounded suspiciously like longing.

Hawke's face bloomed into a blush; that heavy lidded look of desire on his face was enough to make her instantly wet.

She nodded, and then settled on the chair, passing the baby to Fenris. She fiddled with her robe, her fingers suddenly trembling and bared her breast. Fenris' eyes zoomed in on it, like magnets.

She took the baby back and settled him in her arms, his little mouth comically open as he fumbled, looking for her nipple. She led him to it and he latched on, suckling greedily, milk frothing at the corners of his mouth.

"Maker," Fenris gasped. "Lucky child."

She raised shy eyes to his face and found his skin flushed and his irises blown to nearly all black.

"Does it hurt?"

She rolled her eyes. "No more questions, Fenris," she sighed. "Maker, you're driving me crazy!"

He raised his eyes to hers and the hunger she read in them made her breath catch.

"One last question then," he breathed, his voice nearly unrecognisable, guttural with want. "Are you recovered?"

She blushed even more and then nodded. His eyes narrowed with intent.

Suddenly, Hawke found herself wishing her son would just hurry up with his meal.

* * *

She stood over her son's crib once he had finally been fed and then burped and changed again, and watched as his little pouty mouth made adorable suckling motions in his sleep. He was so angelic when he slept, a far cry from his usual brooding and crying little scrunched up face.

Fenris put a hand on her shoulder and came to stand beside her, staring down at the child they had made together.

"Were you really not going to tell me about him?" he asked, his voice hesitant. "I realise I am not the best father material, but..."

She hushed him with a finger on his lips.

"It wasn't you, Fenris," she sighed, her eyes pleading with him to understand. "It was me, and all my fears. I was afraid you would stay with us out of obligation and...I love you too much for that. You would have hated us both. I didn't want to hold you down; it would be as bad as shackling you."

He tightened his lips. _Didn't the stupid woman realise how much he loved her?_

Then a thought struck him, the revelation making him cringe with guilt.

_No she didn't. How could she?_

He had shown her nothing of the tenderness he held so dear in his heart for her. He had treated her like a woman bought for night. It was all his doing, all his fault, if this amazing woman doubted his intentions; what he had revealed of them had been deplorably lacking.

He sighed and mentally made a note to spend every waking moment convincing her that for him, she was the very breath in his lungs, the sun that gave him life. Before she knew it, she had been drawn into a tight, bone-crushing embrace, his face buried in her neck.

"For such a clever woman, you are profoundly idiotic, Hawke."

She hummed and then chucked. "Are you calling me stupid?"

"You are," he slipped his hand in her hair, and pulled her even more flush to his body, one thigh slipping between her legs. "Shackle me, indeed! I love you, you little fool."

"You are such a romantic..." she drawled sarcastically and he had to purse his lips to keep from laughing.

"Doubt my feelings again, Hawke, and I will call you worse than stupid."

"Like what?" her hands wrapped around him, coming to rest at the small of his back, and then slip under his threadbare cotton tunic, playing against the incredibly soft skin of his lower back.

He shuddered, blood rushing instantly south to make his member twitch against the tight leather breaches.

"Moronic," he sighed and his lips trailed up her throat, his voice dropping to a breathy, husky murmur. "Obtuse," he mumbled as his lips reached her chin and then her lips and his tongue snaked out to slide against that putty lower lip that he had been dreaming of tasting again for eleven long months. She gasped and allowed him entry and he sighed before whispering, "The most harebrained little idiot to have ever breathed."

She smiled, her eyes foggy with desire as his lips hovered inches from her, his hot breath mingling with the excited little pants escaping her.

"And you," she smiled gently, "my loquacious elf, talk too much."

An eyebrow rose up and then his eyes narrowed.

"A wordless demonstration, then," he growled, and next thing she knew he was giving her one of those insanely hot kisses of his, the ones that threatened to steal the very breath from inside her lungs. She moaned in his mouth, and he swallowed down the little needy sound, meeting it with one of his own, a deep rumbling moan that vibrated his chest and set her ablaze with want.

Their son shifted in his little crib, a fist came up to his mouth and he started suckling it with an almost comical sigh.

Both adults went completely still, holding their breaths.

"How long do we have?" Fenris whispered.

"Not much," she leaned down to tuck the blanket around her son, and lightly pat his back.

"Then let's make the most of every minute," Fenris moaned, taking the chance to run his hand along her sweetly curving ass, perfectly displayed for his pleasure as she was bending over the crib.

"Pervert," she said, smiling over her shoulder. "Here I am looking after your son, and you take the opportunity to fondle me."

He shot her a predatory look and then grasped a fistful of his tunic and pulled it over his head, baring that toned, chiselled chest to her roving eyes, the silvery lyrium lines in sharp contrast with his bronze skin.

She slowly straightened up, her body instantly on fire for him, her eyes fogged up and languid with desire.

He smiled and crooked a finger, beckoning her to him with a smile. She followed his slowly retreating steps like a hypnotised woman, towards the huge bed.

Another kiss, a battle of tongues and teeth, his heady taste flooding her senses, making tremors race down her spine. She moaned his name as he ripped the robe she was wearing down her arms, pinning her arms in place with the fabric while his eyes roamed over her body. Her chest was heaving, making her heavy, milk-filled breast jiggle and quiver; a drop of milk escaped her, and he bent his head to her with a tortured groan, drawing her nipple into his mouth to taste it.

"Sweet," he remarked, purring at the taste, lapping up the drops that escaped her. "My son is a lucky boy, Hawke."

His head trailed even lower, rested against her abdomen, still a little flabby from her recent pregnancy, and his tongue came out to follow the few silvery stretch marks that now decorated her belly. If she was feeling a bit awkward about her body, if she tensed up a little at the thought he might not find her attractive anymore, her fears were soon appeased by his whispered words of affection.

He followed each line with his tongue and she struggled with the sleeves of her robe to untangle her arms from the cloth and slip her fingers through his sinfully soft hair, holding his head more closely to her flesh. His tongue trailed lower, then lower still, one hand wrapping around her to rest on her luscious ass, fondling her flesh, while the other pushed her thighs further apart.

"Maker, look at that," he sighed, at the sight of her pink flesh revealed to him under the tuft of dark hair that crowned her sex. "You look good enough to eat." His eyes met her, a hungry, greedy look darkening his green eyes. "And that, my little Hawke, is exactly what I'm going to do."

She had to bite down on her lip to stifle her cries as he did just that. There wasn't an inch of her womanly flesh that wasn't licked, kissed, stroked by that talented tongue. His tongue pushed inside her, drawing on the rich cream that was gushing from her heated centre. He was purring at her taste, the smell of her arousal, commenting with fervent whispers on the softness of her skin, on the deliciousness of her womanhood. She was trembling with want, almost frantic with arousal, bucking against him, pleading wordlessly for more. Each second she could feel her body tightening, reaching further, climbing higher. The fall was going to break her apart. She shuddered and a little keening sound escaped her as his lips closed around her clit, sucking slightly and he shushed her, humming against the exquisitely tender flesh.

"You'll wake him," he breathed against her flesh, before his tongue flicked against her and she fell apart, an orgasm rolling through her with the force of a tidal wave. She didn't care if she was making those needy, pleading sounds, she didn't care if her screams brought the house down; another shudder racked her and she felt her legs buckle. She came again, panting his name like a perverted version of the Chant.

Fenris growled and picked her up, tossing her on the bed, then quickly getting rid of his breaches and releasing his achingly aroused cock.

"Maker, I must have you!" he groaned, crawling over her like a big, dangerous jungle cat. "Let me have you. Now, Hawke."

She nodded yes, still breathless, her body still writhing with pleasure and he plunged inside her, hilting himself in one smooth, rough thrust. He threw his head back, trembling from head to toe like a stallion, praying for control.

The world ground to a halt around her, stilled, lost in that one perfect moment when the man she loved was again one with her. She hadn't realised she was empty, until he had filled her again. She hadn't realised how hungry for him she had been, until her hunger was appeased, her desire fed like oil to a fire. She'd had no idea a huge part of her had been missing, until Fenris entwined his hands in hers, thrusting them above her head and started moving inside her.

"I love you so much," she moaned and he cursed in Arcanum, then repeated the words to her, holding her gaze as his mind tried to wrap around the amazing feeling of belonging, the sheer bliss that was frying his nerve endings.

His release was already bubbling to the surface and he had to grit his teeth to try and hold back. She wasn't making things easier, the little minx, writhing against him and rolling her hips to try and take him deeper.

"Do you want another one, Hawke?" he rasped, his voice hoarse with want and she struggled through the fog of pleasure to understand his meaning. Another thrust, his cock withdrawing, slick with her cream, then surging back inside her. "Another baby," he clarified. "Do you want one?"

"Maker YES," she keened and his mouth came down on hers, drinking down her cries as he set up a frantic, brutal rhythm, shafting her with urgent abandon, taking her like a wild storm. "A little girl," she begged. "Give me another baby."

They came together, hissing, moaning at the pleasure at the incredible bliss as his seed shot inside her welcoming depths. He gave her all he was and she accepted him, wholeheartedly, no more fear, no reservations, holding his eyes as he tensed above her, and he moaned her name.

"Take me," he commanded in a sexy, husky murmur, claiming he mouth in another soul-shattering kiss as his essence bathed her core. "All of me."

She could only nod as another orgasm rolled through her at the hot, possessive rasp of his voice and then wrapped her legs and arms around his heaving body, clinging to him like a limpet.

At the crib next to them, a baby started whimpering.

"Ah, incredible timing," Fenris sighed against her shoulder, his body still racked by tremors.

She pushed against his shoulder and he resisted for just a second, unwilling to relinquish her, even to his son, before he drew back and fell on his back to the bed.

"He has pooped again," Hawke commented from the side of the crib, a robe thrown haphazardly on her.

Fenris groaned. "A party pooper, as Varric would have said."

Hawke shot him a scolding look, but there were little lines of laughter and happiness playing around her mouth. She quickly cleaned her son and then brought him to the bed with her, totally naked; it was bonding time. She cuddled against Fenris shoulder laying their son on his still naked chest.

The baby's head struggled to rise up and he opened indignant green eyes to look at his father.

"We need to talk, young man," Fenris said, a look of total contentment on his face. One hand came to cradle and support that little dark haired head and he sighed at the downy softness of his son's hair. "Sharing rights, first. You need to let papa have some time with mama if you want a little sister."

He looked over to Hawke and jerked at the sight of her tears.

"Hawke?" he gasped, his voice suddenly afraid. "If I have said something wrong, I..."

She hushed him with a kiss, one hand on her baby's back, the other on her belly where she fervently hoped another baby would soon be growing. This time, with Fenris there to watch, and strut like the proud daddy he already was.

"No. You said everything right, Fenris. More right than you know."

He smiled.

And little Fenris found the perfect opportunity to...baptise him. Fenris' eyes grew wide in alarm as something warm trailed down his chest. Hawke took one look at his face then saw the streams of pee running down his torso and the way Fenris held the baby away from him, a disgusted look on his face, and started laughing until her belly hurt.

"Son," Fenris growled, "we REALLY need to talk..."

And little Fenny just waved his fists blissfully unaware.

Then his mouth quirked up in what was the first smile of his life.


End file.
